


I Don't Like You

by acklebottomjeans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One-Sided Love, Party Games, Pining, Seven Minutes In Heaven, isaac really doesn't like it, lydia martin is cupid, stiles comes out of the closet -- /in the closet/, this is really dumb and will probably make you smile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acklebottomjeans/pseuds/acklebottomjeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Newsflash, Stilinski: I’m not freaking out about being in a closet. I’m freaking out about being in a closet with /you/.”</p>
<p>Prompt: Isaac confesses his love to Stiles in a closet</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Like You

This wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, but truth or dare seemed like a natural fall back for all drunken teen parties — and apparently even the _sober_ weren’t safe from Lydia Martin’s sheer force of willpower. The entire pack were seated on the loft floor, all displaying varying degrees of displeasure for the game. But Stiles? He looked happier than Isaac had seen him in weeks.

_**Stupid asshole with his stupid, perfect face.** _

"It’s your turn, Lahey!" Lydia’s voice pierced his thoughts, the shrill of her voice pulling him back into reality. 

"I really don’t think—"

"— **Truth. Or. Dare**.”

The look in her eyes was murderous. He sighed.

"Dare."

"Seven minutes in the closet—"

"— I really don’t think this is a good idea, Lydia. Isaac doesn’t deal well with small spaces—"

At least Scott was looking out for him.

"— with Stiles!"

Not that it mattered. The horrified expression that covered Isaac’s face as soon as Lydia finished speaking was apparently the equivalent to signing his death sentence. Because she knew. That strawberry-blonde incarnation of chaos _knew._  Her smile was so smug that it made the beta want to punch himself in the face. _ **Shit.**_

There were two ways he could deal with this situation.

One, protest loudly to the point of embarrassment, making it obvious that there were some kind of repressed feelings on his behalf, or two, take it in full stride, feigning indifference.

Was there even a choice?

“ _Fine_.”

Stiles looked bewildered as Isaac stood to his feet, faux confidence now firmly in place as he paced up the stairs, heading towards his bedroom closet. Sticking his head over the railing, Isaac rolled his eyes.

"— Are you coming or not, Stilinski?"

As if he were breaking out of some kind of reverie— probably an internal monologue resembling complete and total insanity— Stiles nodded slowly before finding his voice.

"Yeah- right, sure. Yep! Totally!"

* * *

"I really don’t like small spaces."

"I kind of gathered that."

"And I really don’t like _you_.”

"Also gathered that."

The two were now bathed in darkness; the closet’s refines making Isaac’s body shake subconsciously. Or was that the close proximity to the boy he r _eally didn’t like_ but kind of **loved**? At this point, it didn’t matter. He was two seconds away from a panic attack, and they hadn’t even been in the closet for a minute. 

Stiles seemed to pick up on it fairly quickly-  _idiot_ \- and placed a firm hand on Isaac’s shoulder. Some kind of attempt to slow down the steadily rising pulse of someone who was incredibly likely to kill him, no doubt. But a poor attempt. If anything, it made things worse. Because the place where Stiles placed his hand— it honest to god felt like it was burning into his skin. Isaac flinched out of the hold, shaking the teenager off with little effort on his part. 

“ _Don’t._ ”

It was a warning. But not for the reason Stiles probably assumed. Isaac wasn’t worried about wolfing out.

It was a warning because Isaac had no idea how he could maintain control over his  **hormones**.

“Dude- it’s oka—“

“— seriously, Stiles. Shut. Up.”

The silence that followed was deafening, Stiles gazing at him like he was some kind of science experiment gone horribly wrong, but still redeemable. He couldn’t be on the receiving end of a gaze like that. He couldn’t be on the receiving end of a look of  _hope_.

“I have panic attacks too, you know,” the shorter teen uttered, finally breaking the peace. “Maybe if you focus on something other than the lack of space—“

“—then everything will be perfect?” Isaac scoffed, letting loose an eye roll that was barely visible in the darkness. “Newsflash, Stilinski:  _I’m not freaking out about being in a closet._ I’m freaking out about being in a closet with  ** _you_**.”

More silence. Uncomfortable shifting. Downcast eyes. 

“I didn’t realize you hated me that much.”

There it was. A statement that broke another uncomfortable moment, words spoken like daggers, their blades digging, and twisting, and stabbing him in the gut. Because  _no_ , that definitely wasn’t it. That wasn’t it by a long shot.

It was a stereotypical school yard crush. Or at least, that was how it began; a constant push and pull; an ongoing tug between ‘go away’ and ‘please come back’. And Isaac Lahey had regressed to his childhood. Or perhaps he was making up for the lack of a proper childhood – because he honestly had no idea how else to display his blatant, obvious crush on Stilinski besides resorting to the stereotypical role of  _bullying him_.

What else could he do? It wasn’t like he had any prior experience to reference.

Nor was he ready to openly admit that he was  _far_  from a zero on the Kinsey scale.

What would his father say?

With a sigh of resignation, the beta shifted into a slumped position, a single hand rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Five more minutes. Only five. Get through five more minutes without saying anything and maybe, just maybe, things will go back to normal—

"I don’t hate you."

— and apparently his brain to mouth filter was well and truly broken, the orifice involuntarily uttering the words that should’ve stayed buried beneath layers and layers of self deprecation.  _Typical._

A single admonishment of truth, and already Stilinski’s mahogany eyes were lit up with confusion. And on the list of things Isaac really didn’t want to explain, his blatant, obvious crush on Stiles definitely made his top three. Yet here they were.

"You don’t?" Stiles spoke, finally breaking the silence.

"No," he responded, blunt and distant; resigned to the fact that he was really going to have to do this. "— the opposite actually."

"You love me?"

"Yep."

"Seriously? Dude, if this is some prank Lydia put you up to or something— it’s really not funny. At all."

If only it was.

"It’s not."

"Well- you have a really funny way of showing it."

"It’s not like I had any good role models."

"Point taken."

Silence. Stiles was taking this remarkably well, given the situation. Too well. Almost as if he still hadn’t quite processed—

Thoughts interrupted by a thundering heart, Isaac blinked open his eyes, quirking a questioning eyebrow in the shorter teen’s direction. Because what the hell had caused  _that_?

"You actually— Jesus Christ! I just thought you had an enormous stick up your ass or something and you were taking a page out of the Derek ‘feelings are for the weak’ Hale book, because you pretty much constantly have this look on your face like you want to punch me and I’m not going to lie dude- it kind of makes you look constipated—"

"—Stiles—"

"—not that that’s a bad thing! Because even when you’re constipated I’m sure you look adorable and tough and grr—”

"—Stiles! Shut up!"

More silence. More heart pounding, tongue tying silence.

"… You actually love me?"

And there it was again. With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his eyes, Isaac contemplated whether or not it would be worth facing Lydia Martin’s wrath for throwing Stilinski out of the closet. How many times did he have to say it?

"I actually love you. God only knows why, because you’re basically the human equivalent of a squirrel on crack— but apparently cupid has a real sense of humour. Who would’ve thought— woah there buddy— what the  ** _hell_**  are you doing—?”

Somehow, Stiles had managed to press the beta up against the wall of the closet, crowding into his space like he wasn’t dealing with someone who had  _chronic claustrophobia_.  **Asshole.**

"Trying something."

"How succinct of you. Do carry on with the whole not explaining thin—"

His sentence was interrupted by the pliant press of lips against his own, Stiles pressing his body even closer— if that were possible. Fingers tugged at the length of his hair, Isaac involuntarily exhaling a breathy gasp at the contact because the guy he’d been pining months for was actually kissing him. 

Before he could properly process that thought, Stilinski withdrew, mouth down-turned and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Huh. I think I’m bisexual."

The statement sounded so absurd as it left his mouth, and Isaac found himself staring at the idiot with the fondness he rarely let his eyes reflect.

"You do realize you’re coming out of the closet while _in the closet_.”

"Maybe I’m just Lahey-sexual. That’s a thing, right?"

It wasn’t exactly a confirmation of love, but he found he didn’t really care. This was a far better reaction than he’d anticipated.

Especially when Stilinski leaned in to capture his lips again.

_He really didn’t care much at all._


End file.
